Through the window of time: reflections on change

Photo by amirali beigi at Pexels

Miriam Chan explores the evolving nature of life

Change is inevitable. It’s an unavoidable aspect of existing in this world where everything is in a constant state of ‘happening’. Each day the sun rises and sets without fail. This daily cycle is so certain, unrelenting and expected that we don’t really perceive it as change at all.

Its regularity makes it feel less like a shift and more like a natural rhythm of life, something we hardly notice or question. This steady ebb and flow of time becomes soothing in its monotony, syncing with our internal clocks and guiding our daily lives.

We as humans find comfort in our little rituals and routines. We like a steaming pot of coffee in the morning and savour squares of chocolate in the evening. We approach our lives like a never ending to-do list, assigning tasks to specific hours, days and weeks.

In order to stay on top of things it feels necessary to constantly look ahead: “What do I need to do next?… That deadline is coming up… Oh God, is it really already 12 am?!”. These thoughts loop endlessly in my mind.

Life can sometimes feel like trying to catch up with something that is always just a bit out of reach. We rarely pause to notice the broader changes happening around us and within ourselves.

I sat my A-levels this past summer, and looking back, the whole academic year feels like a distant blur, a whirlwind of fleeting moments and insubstantial memories. It’s almost as if I blinked and it was Christmas and then I blinked again and, before I knew it, it was summer.

I’ve been thinking a lot about change recently. Autumn is intruding and I can’t ignore it any more.

Photograph by Mimi walking with her dog in the park

This morning I pulled open my curtains to find the ground freshly wet, and trees streaked with more golden-brown than my liking. There’s an uncomfortable sharpness to the air, perhaps from the rain, that has washed away the fairy-dust magic of summer.

The rain lashing against my window is like an alarm I can’t press snooze for. Autumn is intruding and I can’t ignore it any more. It’s funny, I spent all of last year looking ahead, planning out how I would spend the next hours and months. Now all I can do is reminisce, trying hopelessly to hold onto time that’s long passed, clinging to memories already washed pink with nostalgia.

I’ve been thinking a lot about change recently. Everyone around me is starting something new; some of my closest friends have moved hundreds of miles away for university. I’m staying here in London for the next year, which is partly why I feel like I should be heading back to my old college, arriving at my 9 am English lesson, and setting my notebook and pencil case on the table ready to analyse the next poem in Plath’s Ariel. But I’m not and with the new term here, it makes it feel real. I’m one year older and a new month has replaced the last.

The vague daydream of the changing leaves and autumn air isn’t in my head at all anymore. I can’t tie it to last year or pretend it’s still trailing somewhere behind me. The smell of rain and rot that fills my lungs is nauseating. As I trample fallen leaves into a rich, decaying pulp, it’s a vivid reminder of the season’s changing.

It’s strange how quickly things shift, and while I already miss my friends who’ve gone, I’m going to try and embrace this change. I want to live in the moment (as clichéd as that sounds) and be more aware of the changes happening around and within me. Change can be unsettling of course, but also an opportunity for discovery and growth.